Here's To You, Mrs Robinson
by Sailor Tralfamadore
Summary: After a night at the movies, Joan decides to take her mother's advice regarding a certain younger man. Joan/Bob Benson. Written after viewing "The Crash," inspired by "A Man With A Plan." Includes sex, but nothing very explicit.


AN 6-10-13: Yes, everyone, I'm _well aware_ of what happened with Bob on last night's episode, "Favors." I wasn't when I wrote this. But I'm still keeping this fic up, because I think it's good. So yeah, keep that in mind in your reviews.

* * *

While the creative branch of the newly-merged Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce-Cutler Gleason Chaough, were losing their minds on whatever Cutler's personal Doctor Robert had given them as "inspiration" for their Chevy pitch, Joan was enjoying some time off.

Mostly, she spent it taking care of little Kevin, trying to be the best mom she could be. She knew most of the other bigwigs at SCDP had kids and weren't particularly doting - Don seemed almost comically inept when he'd brought in little Sally and Bobby over the years - but Joan knew she had to be different. After all, she was now 37 and she wasn't getting any younger. She still hadn't lost her ability to seduce her pick of the men at the office, but as for men she could actually depend on, who could stick with her? Well, she felt like Kevin was going to be the male lead in the movie of her life for a while. Even if she didn't care for him - and she did, with all her heart - Joan doted on Kevin out of lack of anything else to do.

But even she felt like she needed time to herself from time to time, and in that strange little weekend, where she was hearing surprisingly little from the agency (at least, surprisingly little that made sense) Joan decided to call her mother to watch over Kevin as she got ready to go out.

"Just taking a personal day," Joan told her. "I figured you could watch him. The boys at work have been losing it over the Chevy account all week, and I think I could use a break from _all_ kinds of babysitting."

"What are you planning to do tonight?" her mother said.

"I figured I might catch a movie." Joan said. "I've heard good things about _The Graduate_. Mostly the men boasting over Anne Bancroft's legs, of course, but it's getting good reviews from the critics, too..."

"Are you sure any places are still showing it? It's been out for a while."

"The newspaper listed a couple of places downtown."

As soon as her mother arrived, Joan was kissing her son goodbye and about to rush out the door. Almost, until...

"You know, you could be a good Mrs. Robinson yourself, Joan. Maybe with that younger man who came by the other day."

"Good evening, mother," Joan said as she closed the door.

* * *

It had been an interesting film, though somewhat hard to believe at times that Anne Bancroft and Dustin Hoffman's characters were as far apart in age as the movie wanted you to believe. And Joan couldn't understand for the life of her why that silly Elaine was so fixated on Ben, when she could clearly do better. She reminded her of some of the more desperate secretaries at the office, so quick to fling themselves at the first man who showed any interest.

Good thing Joan had never been like that. She'd made some mistakes with men, true - marrying Greg had been her biggest one - but never out of desperation.

As she emerged from the theater to the rain-soaked streets of New York, Joan was about to flag down a taxi when, all of a sudden, she heard someone calling her name. "Joan? Joan Harris?"

She didn't recognize the voice at first, so Joan whirled around - and nearly ran into that boy who had helped her sneak out of the office when she'd been feeling ill. Whose job she had saved. What his name? Benson?

"Oh, hi Bob," Joan responded, as soon as her brain caught up. "Fancy meeting you outside of work."

He smiled and shrugged. "Just enjoying my day off, catching a film at the theater," he said. "That odd new Stanley Kubrick film, _2001: A Space Odyssey. _What about you, what did you see?"

"_The Graduate_," she responded, keeping her face neutral. She wasn't sure what to make of Bob yet, or if his previous act of kindness had been for any purpose other than saving his job. "A little late to the party, I suppose, but I'm glad. It was good."

"Ah, yes," Bob responded. "I saw it a few months ago. Strange little movie, but very good one."

"Indeed."

Bob caught his breath. "Say, there's a bar near here. I don't have much to do for the rest of the night. You want to get a few drinks and chat?"

Joan was taken aback, a bit. So perhaps Bob was interested in her company for more than when he needed it to save his neck? This was new. And she wondered if she shouldn't be getting back to her son...but hadn't she planned to grab some dinner after the film ended anyway?

"Sure," Joan said, with a half-smile, before she could stop herself. "I'd love to."

* * *

Joan sat in the bar Bob had led her to, sipped the cocktail she'd ordered - slowly, very slowly. She didn't want to get ahead of herself. She still wasn't sure this was a good idea.

"I am buying, of course," Bob said, with a slight - but only slight - tremble in his voice. Like he wasn't quite sure what he was doing.

"Don't be silly," Joan insisted. "I make much more money than you. If anyone should be buying someone else a drink, it should be me." Did she really just say that? She hoped he wouldn't take her seriously - but he seemed young and naïve enough that he might.

Where was she going with this?

"I make enough," Bob responded, "that I can afford to buy you a drink, Mrs. Harris."

"Just Joan," she quickly corrected him. "You saved me the other day, the least I can do is let you be a on first-name basis with me."

"And you saved my job," Bob said. Joan looked up. "Don't think I didn't figure it out," he said. "Who else would speak up for me?"

"You should think," she said, "that you've been helpful enough around the agency that it wouldn't be necessary."

"There are lots of people to be helpful in small ways," he said. "Lots of secretaries. But you're the only one I've helped in a big way. But not still as big as what you did for me by speaking up for me in there."

"So I'll do whatever I can to make it up for you," he finished, raising his dirty martini to his lips.

Joan wasn't sure if that statement was supposed to be about more than a drink. She wasn't sure if she wanted it to be.

It was time to change the subject.

"So how was that Kubrick movie after all?" she asked. "It doesn't sound like my quite my cup of tea, but I've heard very interesting things. What's the plot?"

"Well, there's not much of a plot to speak of," he said. "Lots of interesting music and camera-work, though. It's the sort of thing you just have to experience."

Joan raised her eyebrows. This was a side to Bob she hadn't seen - or, in fact, anticipated at all. What does some little boy in his mid-20s know about movies? "I didn't know you were such a film buff, Bob."

"I have many hidden talents," he responded, with a smirk.

The understatement of the decade, Joan thought to herself. No one at the office seemed to know what to make of this new, young gun. She felt like she knew him the best, because of their errand the other day - and she still barely knew him at all.

_But, you know_, she thought, as she took in his appearance - open face, thick eyebrows, dark, serious eyes, sandy hair, all youth, all the eagerness and freshness of youth...

_I wouldn't mind getting to know him better._

* * *

Despite the drinks, Joan still knew when a night had worn on too long, and it was time to be getting back to her son. Motherly instincts, she figured. No liquor was thick enough to block them out.

"I think I should go," she finally said, after a long time talking to Bob, and many more drinks. She had been surprised at how captivating of a conversationalist he could be. The topic had quickly strayed from movies to the drama at the office (Bob was as confused as Joan was as to what had been going on there) to even politics (while Joan was still unsure where she stood, it turned out that Bob, like a lot of the youngsters at SCDPCGC, was a fan of Gene McCarthy).

"So soon?" he asked. Then his eyes brightened, as though he suddenly remembered something. "Oh, right," he said. "Your son."

Joan smiled, her lips tinged with sadness and longing. "He's likely asleep by now," she said, "and my mother is looking after him, but he'll be upset if he wakes up in the middle of the night and his mommy isn't there."

Bob grinned. "You must be a very good mother." He paused. "You took a cab, yes?"

Joan nodded.

"Let me drive you home," he said. "It's easy for me - your home is on my way."

Joan blinked. "No, Bob, you really don't have to go all to that trouble. After what you did..."

"Please."

She blinked again. He was insisting. And in the way he said it, and in his expression...

"I suppose so."

* * *

They left the bar shortly after, the rain having let up into a light drizzle. It felt almost refreshing, after the strangeness of the whole week - and the whole evening.

As Joan slipped into the passenger seat, she finally decided to say something. To resume control, as she always had in these situations - especially with a man as young as Bob.

Though he was turning out to be far less naïve than she initially expected.

"That was very nice, Bob," she said. "But I'm not sure if you know what you're getting into."

"What do you mean?" he said, but with a gleam in his dark brown eyes that made it clear he knew exactly what she meant.

"You're very young, and very sweet. I..."

"I'm no Benjamin, Mrs. Robinson."

"What?"

He was grinning, like the cat who ate the canary. "Look," he said. "I may be young, but I'm no fool and I'm definitely not a virgin. I've been with several women. And I know enough about what I like to know that the blushing secretaries are not my type."

"Bob, really..." she said, although Joan had a feeling they'd gone past the point of no return. Nor did she particularly want to turn back.

Especially when he locked on her with those dark, serious eyes, and reached his hand up to cup her chin, closing the distance before they'd even left the parking lot.

"Joan. Please," he said, with even more urgency than before, as he closed his lips on her own.

He tasted like those dirty martinis.

She felt her own hand reach up to muss his soft sandy hair, and before either of them knew it, things starting moving very quickly. He was pressing further toward the passenger side, his body falling onto her own. The kiss got deeper, messier, sloppier, and Bob's mouth began traveling down Joan's jaw, toward her neck, as she felt his other hand - the one that wasn't on her chin - sliding up her dress, bunching it up.

It was moving too fast.

"No," she said, suddenly breaking the kiss, moving her hands to press against his jacket, pushing him back. "Not now. Not here."

"What?" he said, gasping in frustration, gaping at her wide-eyed and confused.

Joan put back on her trademark smirk. "We're not reckless teenagers," she reminded him, patting him on the shoulder. "Even if you were one not too long ago."

"I'm twenty-six," he said, slightly offended. "Longer ago than you think."

"Either way," she said, regaining composure as he moved back to his side of the car, "I think we should wait until we get back to my place. After I make sure Kevin is asleep and my mother is gone." She grinned at him, slyly, under heavy-lidded eyes.

Joan was back in control.

His face flushed, Bob sat up and smiled. "Yes," he agreed, as he finally started the car, and began to pull it out.

* * *

Mrs. Holloway looked at the clock again, wondering where her daughter was. She was usually so devoted to her son and her duties as a mother, Mrs. Holloway wondered what was taking her so long.

She could think of only one thing. _Maybe she met a man._

She thought of the young, fresh-faced coworker Joan had brought home not long ago, when she had fallen ill at work and he had decided to sneak her to a doctor and then home. Joan had insisted the boy - Benson, was that his name? - was only interested in saving his position, but Mrs. Holloway was certain she'd seen something more in his eyes.

And she knew her daughter would see it eventually. Joan was a shrewd girl, and she'd always been good at dealing with men and their affections toward her - of which, there were always many. She just hoped Joan would be interested - that she'd see the opportunity for a younger, more innocent, less tied-down type of man for what it was.

A breath of fresh air. A change of pace.

Mrs. Holloway suddenly lost her train of thought as the door opened, to reveal her daughter. "I'm here to relieve you, Mother! Sorry I was so delayed. I was catching up with someone."

And the someone entered the door shortly after her, as fresh-faced as he'd been before - but somewhat less innocent.

Mrs. Holloway smiled as she greeted her daughter and gathered her things. She didn't want to delay the two lovebirds any longer than she could.

Joan needed this. And she was glad her daughter had finally figured that out.

* * *

It had been a long time since Bob had spent his night with a woman this beautiful, this good.

_It's been_ far _too long_, he thought as he helped Joan lift her dress above her head, capturing her lips again, lifting his hands to cup her full, glorious breasts. He pressed her back down on the bed, lifting his hand to allow his mouth to cover one of her nipples, licking and sucking, relishing the sounds of her moans of pleasure. He soon after removed his other hand, to fiddle with his pants - his jacket and shirt already on the floor.

It was odd how she'd given him every chance to back off, thinking he didn't know what he wanted. Sure, Bob doubted he was as experienced as SCDPCGC's ranking femme fatale. But he wasn't naïve - not like she thought, anyway. He knew some things.

And what he didn't know, he couldn't wait for Joan to teach him.

He moved his mouth between her breasts, sliding lower, and when he was done with his pants, used that hand to stretch over her long, pale, sleek, _perfect_ legs. _Far nicer than either of Anne Bancroft's_, Bob thought to himself.

_Here's to you, Mrs. Harris._


End file.
